“So you’re just going to stay in and pout, the rest of the trip?”

I grumble as Tanya throws open the curtains, flooding the room with sunlight. It’s past noon, but still seems way too bright. My head’s already pounding when I curse at her and pull a pillow over my head.

“Come on, Moll,” she whines, yanking it back. “We’ve got four days left. You’ve spent all morning in here, moping about Kai. Either call him or get over it.”

“I’m not,” I say firmly, “moping about Kai.” I sit up just as she tears the comforter off me. Then, proving myself, I grab the spray from her and start fixing my hair.

“Something happened. I can tell.”

“Nothing happened. That’s the whole point: it was a fun vacation hookup, it’s over, life goes on.”

“If it’s not Kai,” she says, ignoring me, “it’s got to be Damian. Tell the truth: are you staying here so you don’t have to see him? Because that, I would totally understand. After that whole kissing bullshit he pulled on you, I don’t even want to see him.”

That’s not why at all; after I finally got to say my piece, seeing Damian stopped being the much-dreaded fiasco I kept worrying it would be. If anything, he should be avoiding me—especially now that he and James are on again, according to Carrie. Her news source (Ted, via pillow talk) is pretty reliable.

Still, it’s the easiest, fuss-free explanation that Tanya will accept, so I shrug and let her believe what she wants.

We stake out some chairs by the infinity pool and order drinks. We’re about two sips in when a shadow falls across us. I find myself squinting up into Luka’s face.

“Just checking in. How are the drinks?”

I look at Tanya, who’s giving him a thorough twice-over. Of course. “Um...good. Did you make these, or something?”

He scratches his head, glancing around the deck. “Today’s my first day. I’ve been checking in with all the guests and running around all morning.” Nervously, he laughs. “Guess it’s coming off as creepy, though, huh?”

“Not at all.” Tanya takes off her sunglasses so she can flash him her bright green eyes and lash extensions. He definitely notices.

“First day?” I ask, interrupting their moment. “Aren’t you the bartender?”

He gestures to his suit, which I somehow missed. “Not anymore. You’re looking at the new owner.” He slouches a little. “Well, almost. Right now I’m, like, the substitute owner.”

“What?” I take off my sunglasses too, but in a far less sexy way than Tanya. “Kai said your dad gave him the job.”

“No, I’m taking it. He didn’t tell you?”

I look around, like Kai will emerge from the hot tub or step out from behind a palm tree. “No. But I haven’t seen him today, so….” They wait, but I just punctuate it with a shrug.

Luka’s cell phone trills. He nods goodbye, his gaze lingering a little longer on Tanya, and vanishes into an employees-only door.

“Damn,” Tanya whistles, lying back and putting her sunglasses on again. “Boy cuts a nice figure in that suit. Definitely management material.”

“Kai said he used to be the slacker type, until recently.” I think of yesterday in the clearing, how clearly Kai didn’t want this place—but how obligated he felt to carry on the family business. Even if the “family” part of that equation was waning.

I pull my knees to my chest and sip my drink. “They had an older brother, and apparently the whole thing was supposed to go to him.”

“Had, or have?”

“Had.”

Tanya lifts her glasses and looks at the door Luka went through. “Damaged management material, huh?”

“Stop, Tan. I’m being serious, here.” As concisely as I can, I explain Kai’s dilemma: his brother’s death, the business transformation, and how trapped he felt in the heir-to-the-throne lineup.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” she interrupts, when I near the end of the story, “but why do you know all this? And why do you care? I thought it was just a fun vacation hookup.”

“It was. Is.”

She laughs through her nose. “Spoken like a true liar.”

“Even if I do like him,” I relent, as I lie back and tent the magazine over my face, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Because you’re leaving soon.”

“Yep.”

“And because,” she adds, “it’s not like you’ve got four days left to get to know each other, see where things go, and at least try and figure out if there’s a connection worth preserving.”

I hesitate. “Exactly.”

She laughs again. “You’re hopeless, Moll.”

“Look,” I sigh, my own passionfruit-scented breath blasting back at me from the magazine, “you don’t know the whole situation. It turns out he does this with a bunch of tourist girls.”

“And?”

“And...I don’t want to be just another tourist girl and get used like that. I’m done being used. Damian did it once already. I’m not putting up with it again.”

“Well, first of all: if this really was just a vacation hook-up, you wouldn’t care about the other girls.” Tanya pauses, letting her supposed wisdom sink in. “And second: how do you know he’s hooked up with other tourists? Didn’t you say he hadn’t had sex in, like, two years?”

“Right, because guys never lie to get girls into bed.”

“What I’m asking you is, did you get any actual proof he does this kind of thing? I mean, did you ask him?”

“I didn’t have to. I heard his brother say it.”

“You heard,” she says, and I can tell she’s sitting up, leaning closer to me, “as in, you actually, literally heard his brother say, ‘Kai hooks up with tourists.’”

My answer stutters out. “I mean...basically, yeah.”

Tanya doesn’t talk or move for so long, I almost get curious enough to look at her. But not brave enough. Eventually, I hear the chair scrape the wood of the deck as she lies back down.

“If I were you,” she says, “I’d go ask him directly. Whether it’s just four days or if it turns into long-distance, it’s stupid to go on nothing but assumptions. That’s what the old you did, and it never ended well.” She pauses. “Actually, if I were you, I wouldn’t care in the first place—I’d just be in it for the sex. But I know that’s not your thing.”

“Long-distance isn’t an option. We agreed, no strings. I don’t want strings.”

Tanya laughs again, then yawns, rolling over onto her stomach. “Don’t lie to me, girl. You’re not good at it.”

“I think you should tell him.”

“Mom.” I sigh and stare down into my coffee. If I look at her face, she’ll convince me. She always does. “There’s no point in telling him right now. It’ll just stress him out.”

“You boys underestimate your father a lot, you know. He might surprise you.”

“Or,” I say, putting little arc-shaped dents along the cup’s rim with my thumbnail, “he might fly into a rage, have another stroke, and wind up in the ICU. Again.” My face flushes; I almost said “in the morgue” but, thank God, remembered I’m not talking to Luka, who shares my irreverent humor during times of stress. Mom, not so much.

She puts her hand on my knee. Always with the touching. Moms must know it’s our weakness as their kids, no matter how old we get—the one thing, other than seeing them cry, that can make us cave.

“He still thinks he’s signing everything over to you when he gets out of here. He’s building it up in his head, right now.” She touches my chin, making me look at her. Her fingers are cool.

“As far as he knows,” she adds softly, “you want to do this.”

I close my eyes. “I know, Mom.”

She lets her hand drop and picks up a magazine from the particleboard table, apparently standard-issue in waiting rooms. It’s silent for a while, except for the bubbling of the water cooler and occasional crinkle as she turns a page. I know she’s waiting, not reading.

“We have it worked out, though,” I say after a minute, and she closes the magazine. “Dad didn’t officially name me the owner yet, or even the interim owner. Which means we’re not doing anything wrong letting Luka step in.”

I look at her. She nods, telling me to go on.

“Luka’s going to run things until Dad gets out of here, so he can see how great he’s doing and how much he loves it. Then we’ll tell him.” I let out a breath. Now it’s my turn to wait.

“If that’s what you want to do.” She opens up her magazine again.

I groan and put my head in my hands, elbows on my knees. “Mom.”

“I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” she says. “I’m only telling you that your father—who I’ve known for much longer than you have, keep that in mind—can handle the news now, instead of later.” Cue the knee-touch again. “And I think the sooner the truth comes out, the better.”

“You know him as your husband,” I point out. “It’s a totally different ballgame when he’s your dad. As far back as I can remember, he drilled it into us that this business was all that mattered.”

“Funny, I never heard him say that.”

“He didn’t have to say it. He lived it.”

Mom closes the magazine again. This time, she tosses it back onto the table.

“Kai, look at me, please.”

I do.

“Do you know why your dad got the franchise? And why I agreed to it?”

I study her. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it seems like there are more lines around her eyes than there were a few days ago. “No.”

“Because he felt guilty.”

Even though she’s totally serious, this makes me laugh. “Right.” Guilt is not something my father knows. Placing blame? Easy. But guilt, or owning up to mistakes? Never.

“It’s true.” The glint of her wedding band hits my eye as she turns it, nervous, like she isn’t sure if she should say what’s already coming out. It’s not like her.

“After your brother died,” she whispers, “your dad felt a lot of guilt for making him work so hard. All the training, the business school....” She inhales, blinks, and exhales, keeping the tears back. It’s been years since I’ve heard her talk about Noe. The last time, to my memory, was a few months after he died, when she accidentally called me by his name. She didn’t stop crying for days.

“Your dad thought the resort was the easiest way to keep the family business going.” She looks from her ring back to me. “He didn’t want to put you under the same pressure he did Noe, running everything yourself. The franchise...well, to him, it seemed like the best way to still give you the business, without the stress of actually doing it on your own.”

The news sinks into my chest and settles there, refusing to dissolve. “I would have wanted it before, when it was still just ours, but...but not the way it is now, always expanding and so many rules—”

“Which your father doesn’t know. Don’t you think he should?”

“I can’t believe he feels guilty.” I look down at my coffee again, ice cold. “Noe loved working there. He didn’t go to business school because Dad pressured him—it was just...who he was.”

She gets up and takes my coffee from me before I can argue, already starting across the room to make me a new cup. “Maybe he should know that, too.”